A/N: Un-betaed. Read at your own risk.
Irony was Killer Frost's favourite thing.
She enjoyed the surprise that fate and irony brought to her. Back on her original Earth, not even three years back, she was changed by the particle accelerator explosion that sacrificed so many lives, including the love of her life. Ronnie's death was the trigger for her to embrace her new identity and indulge in her deepest, darkest desire. She terrorized the city without mercy, desiring vengeance for Ronnie's death because these people had encouraged Starlabs to switch on the accelerator under the name of science.
She lost Ronnie because of their selfish desire.
Thus, she embraced the identity of Killer Frost, letting Caitlin Snow slept in grief deep within her mind, never to be woken again. She killed and destroyed, becoming even more violent for each day that passed until the pain of her lost changed to pure bloodlust and the sadistic needs to inflict pain. Nobody could stop her. Sure, sometimes CCPD was desperate enough to request Green Arrow's help to subdue her, but the vigilante has his own city to worry about.
Killer Frost was an unstoppable force of menace.
The only cloud of rain in her parade was none other Detective Barry Allen.
Adorable stammering cutie that detective was, but underneath that cute insecurity was a persistent man of law that would stop at nothing before he could get his hands on Killer Frost and put her away for good.
She almost regretted it when she put an end to her favourite persistent detective.
But he was getting too close to capture her—despite the fact that he was a mere powerless human, Barry Allen was a force to be reckoned with. He was impossibly smart, the plan and strategy he devised had her cornered to a wall, just like a trapped mouse.
She was super annoyed when he had his gun pressed right underneath her jaw, Black Canary stalking in the darkness for emergency backup while Arrow's little gang was armed and ready to attack as they blocked her escape routes while waiting for the police to arrive. To top it off, Green Arrow has an arrow aimed to her head from the shadows of the roof as sweet Detective Allen tried to put that power-dampening cuff on her.
She got away with ringing ears, a bullet in her gut and an arrow through her shoulder that night.
Detective Barry Allen, on the other hand…. well, she heard that he had woken up from the coma, though the news mentioned that he is retiring early from his career in CCPD—the desperate blast of ice she aimed to his chest had weakened his heart to the point that being a detective was impossible for him. The last news she heard about him was that he moved to Star City under the encouragement of his pregnant wife, and was currently working with Mayor Queen and SCPD as a crime scene consultant.
Killer Frost kinda missed him though.
Yeah, she almost killed him, but he was her favourite detective, and none of the detectives that replaced him was close enough to his persistence and brilliance.
Killer Frost was bored.
Bored enough that she actually paid him a visit in Star City—a visit that almost stopped his heart due to the shock—and she didn't even say anything to ask if he was ever going to return to Central to be her nemesis again. She knew that he couldn't, even though she knew that he wanted to—because the way he was gripping on her wrists showed her that he was still determined to stop her.
But they both knew that he couldn't.
She had broken his body.
Thus, she left without another word as his wife rushed out to aid him when he collapsed in yet another heart attack—a strange emptiness dug a hole in her chest.
What's a superhero without a villain? Useless.
What's a supervillain without a hero? Successful AND bored.
Killer Frost was bored to death.
Then fate brought her to the Flash and things changed.
She could never forget the amused laughter he barked out when the first thing she said to him once he removed the cowl was that she almost killed his doppelganger.
And then he had the balls to ask why she didn't kill his doppelganger for real.
When Barry Allen turned to the dark side, he really went all out.
Despite her initial reluctance (considering that he was about to wage a war against the superhero community on his Earth), she was ecstatic when the Flash personally came to recruit her into his army. She felt honoured even, to be a part of the rise of his villainous reign. His vendetta was so deep that even by one look into those hateful green eyes she knew that no heroes would survive his hatred. He was dead set to vanquish heroes and justice on his Earth once and for all.
That was cute and all, but Killer Frost refused to be thrown into ultimate boredom again.
But then, she met Savitar, who has interesting relationship with the Flash, and then met the doppelganger of her Ronnie in the form of Deathstorm—and she knew that things wouldn't go boring at all, even if she helped him win the war. No, there will be no boredom with this lot of people.
Thus, she had said yes to both Flash's offer and Deathstorm's proposal and moved to Dark Earth.
Fast-forward to a couple of months after their victory, the Flash brought a powerless Barry Allen into their headquarters, and introduced the man as Dr. Barry Allen, fondly known as Ripper on Dark Earth—a doctor, a teacher and a serial killer, all three in one—who would be helping Killer Frost in finding ways to control the Flash's violent energy and healed the radiation that was eating the speedster.
She grown fondness to the man. Ripper reminded her so much of her favourite detective. Smart and adorable, powerless human yet dangerous in their own ways, and the glint of fierce determination in those green eyes whenever she witnessed them being caught in their respective passion—be it chasing after her or murdering unsuspecting victims—they both were so similar yet so different. The fate that crossed their paths together was amusingly hilarious, especially when he told her that back on his Earth, he was the villain while her doppelganger was the hero.
What an irony.
And now that they were sort of best friends, she was concerned when he seemed to lose himself after he committed that unplanned murder on his own girlfriend.
It was a shame though. He was all fine and dandy while committing the deed but once he returned from dumping the body and realised what he just did, he freaked out.
She wasn't expecting him to ever commit a crime of passion. He simply wasn't the type for unplanned murder. Thus, when he stumbled out of the breach right into her lab with bloodstained clothes, all the while freaking out and mumbling over and over again about how he literally just left the body of his girlfriend at CCPD after raping her corpse and turning her to his latest victim—Killer Frost knew that she should monitor him, just in case he needed a damage control.
Months later, when she saw that he was still clinging to the memories of Iris West even after she advised him to take a break from his night job, she finally decided to interfere….in her own wicked ways.
"I can't focus," he grumbled as they made their exit after leaving the poor sods that she just changed to an artful ice statue in the middle of Central Square. "Can you change back,please?"
"Come on, Ripper, isn't this fun?" she halted and turned around to face him, only to frown at what she saw.
He had his face tilted up to stare at the sky, his throat bobbed while his eyes squeezed painfully tight. Killer Frost held back a sigh, wondering why every Barry Allen she knew seemed to be so hung up over Iris West even after they killed that woman. Even the Flash was still hung up over his Iris—though, thank fuck that the speedster channelled his regret towards aggression and hate, so the only depressed Barry Allen she had to handle was Ripper. She walked up to him and held his hands, feeling the tremble of those hands and the flinch of his shoulders when he opened his eyes and saw the face that she was wearing.
It was tough, but he needed to learn to look into Iris' face and not feel like he wanted to slit his own throat.
She knew that the reporter was bad news ever since the beginning. What was the chance that she suddenly switched her interest in writing article about the Scarlet Ripper to writing about —two completely different public figures in two different section of the newspaper—if she didn't suspect both of them to be the same person? Knowing the determination of the woman, Killer Frost knew that the chance was slim to none. Iris West must had seen something when she almost caught him that Christmas night, and made the connection between the two.
Too bad that Ripper has the same stubbornness of the rest of his doppelgangers and didn't take her warnings seriously.
"Ripper," she called, lacing her cold hands with his gloved ones together. "This is just a face."
"It's not just a face," he murmured, still avoiding her gaze. "It's Iris'."
"Babe," she sighed, resisting the urge to ice him as she added, "…you don't want the heroic Frost getting the flame just because she shared the same face with me, right?"
He was silent for a moment, lips pursed in a contemplative line.
"I can't do this," he finally whimpered, stepping back from her but she rooted him to the ground, not letting his hands go. "Killer, please," he was positively begging now, the look on his face would've melted the coldest of heart.
Thank fuck that Killer Frost didn't really have a heart.
"Ripper, look at me," she growled, gripping his hand tight in one hand while the other reached up to cup his jaw, forcing him to look straight into her eyes. "Stare into these eyes, and remember the way she looked at you when she confronted you," she hissed, keeping him in place when he wanted to back away, sensing the beginning of the panic from his escalated breathing.
"Killer Frost, please…"
She ignored his pleas.
"Look into these eyes and remember the triumphal hate in hers you saw that night," she kept on talking, tightening her hold on his hand when he squeezed his eyes shut. "Look at this face, and tell me that you're not hurt and angry when she told you that she never loved you," she pushed on, patting his cheek encouragingly when his eyes fluttered open again. "Tell me that when you came into my lab four months ago, looking like a complete mess, all the things you told me were lies."
He shook his head and tried to back away, but she kept him in place, wanting to revert him back to his original self.
"Barry," she hissed, lowering her voice so that only he could hear her, her thumb rubbed gentle circles over his trembling hands. "Tell me that you're okay when she toyed with your heart. Tell me that you're alright when she deliberately used your emotions to lower your guard. Tell me that you're fine when she told you that her sole purpose of dating you was so that she could confirm her suspicion of you being the Scarlet Ripper," she exhaled, seeing the mix of pain and anger in his eyes, knowing that she was close to her goals. "If you can tell me those, I will change back to my own face right this second."
His throat bobbed again, and Killer Frost saw the tears that disappeared underneath the edge of his mask, and she knew that he was still hurting, still feeling the pain of broken first love but the hard set of his jaw and the forced strain on his neck told her that his anger to Iris West's betrayal was there to.
She needed the anger to overwhelm the pain, she needed him to embrace the reality.
"I can't do that," he finally croaked out, his hands no longer trembled in her grip as she felt the anger radiated from him. "I can't say that I'm fine when I'm not…," his voice grew softer, but she could hear the choke he tried to hide. "She toyed me, Killer," he sighed, almost in resignation before he broke to a broken laugh. "She played me right from the beginning!"
"So why are you still so in love with her?" she questioned, looping her arms around his neck, her fingers tangled through his stiff dyed hair as she leant on tip-toe, brushing their noses together, as if she was about to kiss him. "Look at me, Ripper, look at this face and remember her betrayal," she murmured to him, trying her best to imitate Iris West's speech—not that she would ever succeed, but she deserved points for effort. "What have you ever done to her to deserve the pain? What have you ever done to hurt her or her family?"
He snorted a choked laugh. "I'm a serial killer, remember?"
"But you have never kill anyone that she knew," she countered, remembering the debate that she often had with him regarding his victim selection method. "Most of your victims have no one to grieve over them."
She couldn't understand why the hell he chose victims that have no family to grieve them. His list of victims ranged from people who are alone in this world, or whose family hated them to guts, or their family focused more on the inheritance rather than the victims themselves.
Where was the satisfaction of watching the torment the living kin had to go through after the death if he selected those who were literally alone in this world?
It was almost poetic. If these people had died in a normal way, nobody would even care or remember them. They were only remembered because of the way they were murdered.
In short, without Scarlet Ripper, their deaths would be meaningless.
"I'm focusing on the visual beauty, you heathen," he automatically retorted, his tone was sharp and firm, almost sounding defensive. "The beauty of their shades of red, their story that I tried to convey…how would people appreciate my work if they are so busy crying and grieving?"
Killer Frost blinked at the familiar defensive tone. He used that tone whenever they debated on the topic, when he persistently argued and defended on his selection method against her arguments. She cracked a smile, loving the change. This was more of her calm and collected best friend rather than the guilt-ridden mess before.
"You last work is less than satisfactory, Rip," she teased, trying to prompt more of his old self out. "There was a droplet of blood on Woodward's shirt, you use way too much props, there isn't even that much shades of red to look at and seriously…a tea party for your victim's victims?"
He then suddenly bumped their noses together and rested his forehead against hers. There was a gentle hum resonating from his throat, a contented sound that almost sounded grateful when he nuzzled his nose to her cheek. Pleased with the change in behaviour, she let her hands wandered down his neck to the dark fabric of his shirt, pressing against his chest, marvelling at his heartbeats that were gradually growing calmer.
"Such a tough critic," he chuckled, and Killer Frost couldn't help but smiled in satisfaction when his eyes reopened, and the fierce glint that reminded her of her favourite detective was present in his gaze. "You can't cut me some slacks considering that I was recovering from a concussion that time?"
"Not a chance."
He laughed. "Tough."
She sought his eyes, wanting to see if Iris West's gaze still have an effect on him. He flinched once their eyes met, and she saw a flicker of guilt in those green eyes, but it didn't stay long because he inhaled a deep breath and when he looked at her again, his lips have curled to the familiar smirk that she adored so much.
He still needed time, but that was a progress.
"What's the point of a critic if I don't give you brutal honest critique?" she smirked back at him, leaning closer to kiss his cheeks. "You're losing your charms, baby."
"As if your ice statue is any better."
"Excuse you. That was fantastic."
"Come on," he scoffed. "You just freeze them where they were standing. There is no arrangement or artistic value in there."
"Alright, Picasso," she retreated, but not before giving him a slight taste of her ice on his upper arm. "Let's remember that not everyone paid attention in art class back in school."
He dusted the freckles of ice off his sleeves with an annoyed scowl on his face, but his voice was rich and smooth as the scowl faded and the chuckle tore off his throat. However, he remained silent afterwards, not talking or making snarky comment as he randomly took out the ice dagger she had made for his last birthday, his gaze seemed far-fetched as if his mind was not even there. Killer Frost frowned when he suddenly let out a mocking scoff, her brows furrowed when he ran his thumb over the handle of the dagger. Her frown grew even more confused when he started twirling the blade in his fingers—a gesture she noticed that he did whenever he remembered something from his childhood—the downturn of his lips slowly curled up to a fond melancholic smile.
"I was homeschooled, you know?"
There was a beat of silence.
"Of course," Killer Frost groaned and rolled her eyes. "Rich boys from protective family like you deserves only the best of private tutors unlike the rest of us."
"Mm-hmm," he hummed, shaking his head. "My dad said that I should not mingle with other kids because they were just going to use my smart and wealth for their own benefit," he said, his smile flattened. "The only times I got to go outside and socialize was during the charity events they brought me. I never actually had friends until I met the Flash and the rest of you."
She stared at him from what it seemed like a long minute before she could come up with a comment;
"Your dad is a controlling bastard."
He simply gave her a sly smile for that comment, and for that split second, he looked so much like his far deadlier doppelgangers.
"Yeah, he was," he murmured, the sly smile broadened to a smirk. "It's nice that he is gone."
Killer Frost got the chills.
He retreated into his silence as they climbed and sneaked around the darkness of the city, trying to get him into the evil villain mood back, all the while wreaking havoc and chaos throughout their path—leaving blood, ice and destroyed properties in their wake.
Though, Killer Frost was the one who did most of the hard job, considering that Barry was the ironically peaceful type of menace that preferred carefully planned dread rather than a blatant chaos.
It still annoyed the ice villain to hell when the serial killer refused to kidnap his future victims, even if he found them under the cover of the night. Oh no, the bastard preferred the daytime instead. Even if he found suitable victims while he was out at night, he would only approach them later when the sun was up—usually with coffees, cupcakes and warm smile as he lured them into his deadly arms with his sweet words and stunning charms.
He lured them to his death trap with gentle kindness and sweet charms.
On second thought, that was even more creepier.
"Tonight is my lucky night," he murmured to her, eyes gleaming in the dark as his gaze locked on the dishevelled drunk young woman that would soon be his latest prey. "She's perfect."
"And you're not kidnapping her."
"Nope," he grinned, looking like an excited child on Christmas morning. "I think she would appreciate a cup of soothing hot coffee tomorrow."
Killer Frost wasn't impressed at all.
"She's drunk, Ripper," she commented, her voice flat and not amused. "She is drunk as fuck. You can easily kidnap her now and save the time waiting for the coffee."
And typical of Barry Allen behaviour, he had the balls to give her an offended chiding look.
"You clearly have never taken a girl out on a date," he chided, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "What kind of a man would I be if I bring her home without taking her out for dinner or coffee first? I was raised with proper manners, Frosty."
"This manner of yours is increasing your risk of getting caught."
"Ah, what is life without a healthy dose of adrenaline at the prospect of getting caught?"
Killer Frost couldn't decide whether this blatant recklessness was he punishing her for interfering with his grieving over Iris West; or, he has actually reverted to his roots that craved adrenaline and enjoyed mocking the authority by luring his victims right under their collective noses.
She finally settled with the default response she would give to all versions of Barry Allen whenever they did something that she didn't want to bother to understand;
"You're a fucking weirdo."
His expression twisted to an insulted look, though, before he could respond, they heard the blare of security alarm, followed by the whirring of the cold gun blasting not far from their location. Almost like an instant reflex, he wrapped his arm across her chest, pulling her into the cover of the darkness, his heart drummed calmly against her back as they assessed the situation. The heroes were just around the corner, fighting against a metahuman that just broke into a jewellery store. It looked like that they were having a blast with the fight, cold and gold guns blasting freezing ice and acidic gold towards the wild massive tendrils of the enraged plant-woman.
Killer Frost felt the bloodlust boiled inside her, fuelling her with anticipation and excitement for a battle. She struggled free from his grasp, already tasting the sweet tinge of cruel satisfaction on her tongue at the idea of wearing Iris West's face while attacking the heroes. She was about to ambush the heroes when he grasped her wrist, stopping her in her tracks.
"What the fuck, Ripper?" she scowled at him, honestly not appreciating the interruption, but was taken aback when she saw the solemn look in his eyes.
"What is the first thing the Flash dictates in his multiverse-travelling rules?" he questioned, and she couldn't help but grimace at those words.
If he was using the words of his doppelganger, she knew that he was trying to make her do something that she would probably did not like. She wouldn't like it, but she would have to do it because nobody wanted the Flash's vibrating hand to pierce through their chest.
The speedster wasn't a good sport to people who neglected his rules.
"If anyone from the Earth we visited is not our enemy, we are not to cause any grief to them...," she recited the rule reluctantly, flinching when she had a slight inkling of where he was going, "…and should they request something for the sake of their benefits, we will respect the request."
"Am I your enemy, Killer Frost?"
"No."
"Would you cause me any trouble?"
She paused, before spitting out a simple retort;
"Maybe."
He sighed and quirked an exasperated smile, though his tone remained gentle and hopeful as he asked again;
"Would you respect my request?"
She stared at him. "Fuck you," she glowered, her face scrunched up to a scowl. "Fuck you to the deepest pit of hell."
Of course, she would respect his request. She has no choice.
He smiled, a genuine triumphal smile as if he knew that she had no choice but oblige to whatever he was about to request—which was the truth in this situation. God damn it, he was one of the few doppelgangers that the Flash has deep fondness of. If she didn't oblige, chances for her to be on the speedster's bad side was terribly high.
Letting Ripper join Team Frost might have been a completely terrible idea. She knew that he would grow an attachment to the team of heroes—lonely fuck he was; of course he would cling to his new friends.
Killer Frost held back a groan. "Spit it out, Ripper."
"Will you please not hurt them too much?" he beamed, smiling brightly. "I'm very fond of them."
There was a beat of silence.
"You're such a killjoy, do you know that?"
"And that's why you love me."
She wanted to die.
The content of her stomach was revolting inside her, her head was hurting so bad like there was an untalented marching band pounding their merry way in her brain and the sunlight was the most horrible thing that she saw the moment she woke up.
The fact that she was curled up against the cold dirty surface of the street wasn't even at the centre of her mind.
She could feel the judgemental stares directed towards her direction, and she desperately wished that she could sneer back. If they found her as such an eyesore, they should have called the police and let them lock her up until she was sober, and the alcohol was out of her system. She has had enough of judgemental stares at school.
She then squeezed her eyes shut at the flashes of images that tormented her mind.
I'm sorry.
The guilt that rose up her chest made her retched, dispelling all the contents of her stomach onto the street.
Limp body. Broken collapsed ceiling fan. Pale drained body. Blood all over the bathroom's tiles.
The ambulance. The cold waiting rooms. The ICU. The emotionless doctor.
They are dying. Prepare for the worst.
It used to be all fun and game. She teased. She mocked. She orchestrated a whole year of humiliation and embarrassment for her stepsiblings. They were children of peasants. Their mother was a poor whore that her father picked up, regardless of what the old man had told her. As if she was going to buy that story. There was no way someone so privileged and powerful like her father would fall in love with the poor baker from the city's most shady and poverty-stricken streets.
Except, he did.
Her father's first love was indeed that poor baker.
Her mother? The woman only used her father as a stepping stone for her success. Their arranged marriage was a political union. And she—the child born from a night of trickery and intoxication—was the bargaining chip to stop the divorce that would ruin the woman's climb to the top.
That's why her father loved Rod and Emmy so much. They were the children of the woman he loved, despite being from the seeds of another man.
She hated her stepsiblings so much.
However, she didn't expect for things to go too far. She just wanted them to suffer. To feel being unwanted. To feel what she felt when her own mother abandoned her and when her father kept her at an arm's distance. Never did she meant to drive them to death.
Nevertheless, she did. And she regretted every second of it, knowing full well that her innocent stepsiblings were currently hanging by a thin line of thread between life and death.
People like her didn't deserve to live. She knew that, and she really wanted to die. The moment her head was clear enough for her to drive on her own, she would head to the outskirts of the city and threw herself over the most secluded cliff, falling into the ocean. That way, there was no corpse for them to glare at; and even if her dad and Viola forgave her for pushing her stepsiblings to suicide, the old couple wouldn't have to bury another child. That was such a perfect plan. She could receive her punishment without the thoughts of being at the receiving end of hate or sympathy.
Yeah, she should do that.
But first, she needed to get rid of this annoying man.
"Fuck off," she grumbled, shoving his hands away as he tried to help her up from her spot on the streets.
"I can't do that, young lady," he replied, and she scowled at the bright smile on his face. "You look like you're about to fall face first into your own puke."
She winced at the pungent puddle by her knees but sent her best glare to the man regardless.
"If you touch me, I'll scream."
He sighed, lips quirked to an exasperated smile and raised his hands up in front of his chest, as if showing that he meant no harm, nor he has any intention in touching her. She squinted to the brighter street, scowling at the thought no one seemed to care that there was a man crouching over an obviously hungover girl. This was a totally stranger-danger situation. Didn't this people cared that this man might have been a serial rapist or anything similar and she was about to be taken away?
She scowled at the ignorant citizens walking down the street.
No, they didn't care.
She might as well be kidnapped by the Scarlet Ripper himself and these people won't even give a fuck.
Perhaps that has something to do with his perfectly ironed and expensive-looking clothes, while she looked like a hooker. A respectable-looking man and a girl who looked like a slut. Go figure who they were going to side with if she screamed right now.
"I'm just trying to help," he smiled that bright smile again, and she resisted the urge to puke on his pristine shirt.
"I don't need your help," she grumbled, blinking the remaining of her grogginess away as she intended to intimidate the man with her glare, only to instantly look away from his eyes.
There was something mesmerizing with those deep blue eyes.
It was like looking into the deep sea—the blue was beautiful, but she knew that she could get lost forever into the dark depth of the blue.
"You look like you could use a cup of warm tea, and a good sleep."
"Fuck off."
He exhaled heavily, and she peeked at him through her messy bangs. He didn't show any signs of budging away, even when he ran his fingers through his styled golden tresses, his head hung low as he exhaled yet another heavy breath. When he looked up to stare at her again, his eyes seemed softer behind the frameless glasses, and his smile was gentle—almost fatherly—despite the youth of his face.
His smile caused her to remember her own father—the old man's anguish when they discovered her step-siblings' double suicide, and suddenly, suddenly, she had this urge to crawl to this man and beg to be comforted—to be assured that Emmy and Rod were going to survive their attempts.
"At least let me call a cab to take you home?" he offered, and she openly snorted.
Of course, he would be the typical responsible adult type.
Her father hated her now. But, perhaps she could gain some comfort from this stranger.
She reached a hand to twist on his perfectly buttoned collar, smirking at the marks her dirty hands left on the pristine shirt as she tugged on the fabric, his dark necktie loosened a bit at her force.
"No," she mumbled out, still disoriented, but from the way his expression faltered, she knew that she got the message across. "I don't have a home."
"Oh," he mouthed, and she could've laughed at the troubled look on his face. "Do you have anywhere else to go? A friend that you trust, maybe?"
She laughed at his face, impressed that he didn't even flinch, not even to the stench of alcohol and puke from her breath.
"I'm serious," he insisted. "I'll call a cab and you can give the address and get home safely."
She cocked an amused brow.
What a responsible gentleman. Lesser men would've taken the advantage of her intoxicated state to take her somewhere private and have his way with her, but here he was, practically trying to ensure an intoxicated stranger was returned home safe and sound. Sobering up a bit, she allowed her gaze to linger a bit longer on his face. He was young, probably late twenties or early thirties, the way his deep blue eyes stared intently her from behind those frameless glasses gave the impression of an aged professor instead.
It took her a few blinks to notice that something was hilariously odd about his eyes.
After all, not many people would bother to wear cosmetic contact lens and then add glasses into the mix.
Though, she was in no mood to ask. He could've been a genuine kind man, or a sick twisted bastard who preyed on helpless young girl like her, but to be honest, she didn't give a damn. She was planning to commit suicide anyway, so if he was indeed intending to harm her, he would just made her job easier.
"I have no one," she mumbled, completely deciding to screw everything as she clutched on his collar, dragging her sore, exhausted body across the dirty street to lean against his chest. "Everyone hates me. I hurt them all."
God, was she so desperate that even this young stranger felt so much like how she remembered her father was?
His warmth felt so similar to the ones she remembered to receive from her father ten years ago.
"Okay…," he said, shifting till she was snugly cradled against his chest. "Do you trust me? I can drive you to the nearest hotel and check in a room for you so that you can rest until you're sober—"
His words died down as she buried her face into his chest. She was biting her lower lips in a futile attempt to hide her sob, her body racked in mournful regret while her dirty fingers clawed on his pristine shirt; all the while she did this, his embrace on her body got tentatively tighter.
She clutched on his arms, pulling him even closer as she cried to his chest.
"You have a story, don't you?"
She nodded gingerly upon hearing his quiet words.
She briefly felt a kiss over the top of her head, and her instant reaction to that gesture was to clutch his arms closer, clinging to him for dear life. It felt nice to receive kindness like this. No one has been genuinely kind to her ever since her mother died—not her father, not her supposed friends nor her own boyfriend—
—except that someone did try to be kind to her. Viola had tried, attempting to reach out to her like the amazing mother she was. Emmy was trying too, attempting to reach out for her cold, stone heart…
And she returned the warm attempts with scorns and torments.
"I don't deserve to live," she confessed to his chest, no longer resisting when he pulled her up.
"Oh?" He sounded curious, yet tentatively caring—as if he has no idea whether to push on the story or not—though his strong hold around her waist seemed to tighten as her strength failed her. "And why is that?"
"I killed my siblings," she murmured, her eyes squeezed shut.
Rod and Emmy were still struggling against the inevitable in the ICU, but considering that they were so close to death, she might as well own up to that crime now.
"That's rough," he commented, nudging her away as they reached his car
He let her clutch on his hand until she has climbed into the passenger seat—not one person seemed to bother at the sight of such unlikely pair getting into a car together. The passer-by simply walked past them, not even sparing a glance to the dirty girl and the fine gentleman. He patted her head kindly when she reluctantly let go of his hand, a gesture that made her wonder if the universe sent this kind angel as a consolation before she killed herself.
"If you want to talk about it, I have time to spare."
His offer for a listening ear felt like a godsend—a chance for her to confess her crime and express her remorse before she faced her self-inflicted punishment.
Thus, he gave this kind angel her most thankful smile.
"That would be very nice of you," she murmured gratefully, feeling a bit at ease as she relaxed against the plush leather of his car. "Thank you so much."
She didn't see the wicked curl of his lips as she fell into a peaceful nap.
Everything was a complete chaos.
Today was not Frost's day.
Her horrible day started from the extremely rude awakening by Cisco who vibed straight into Barry's bedroom where she crashed last night. It was then followed by the brief panic upon seeing the cast on Cisco's arm and hearing the news of Lisa's injuries, before it shifted to the grim annoyance she felt when they told her of the new villain who apparently shared the same power of hers and threatened to specifically target Barry and Frost herself.
Speaking of Barry…the man also contributed in ruining her day as he unintentionally thrown her into a much bigger panic she felt when she noticed that he was gone without a trace—no notes, no anything—while there was a new villain who has declared to threaten his life out in the loose.
She didn't have the chance to panic properly at the idea that the villain had kidnapped Barry because CCPD had called an emergency backup in Central Square—the staggering number of civilians being impaled by stray shards of ice made her own blood ran cold as she hurried to save the day.
And now she was one of the victim of the ruthless ice shards.
Frost swore under her breath, eyes squeezed shut in pain when Cold wrapped her open wound with the scarps of fabric from his torn parka. Civilians were screaming, scrambling around the scene to escape towards the safety of the police's barricade that circled the area.
"Old man, did you get a hold of the doc yet?" Cold growled to his comms once he was done with the quick first-aid on Frost, his breath was ragged as they hid behind a flipped car.
"I've tried, Mr. Snart," Dr. Wells' voice chimed in both of their comms, worry flooded the old scientist's voice. "I couldn't reach him. His phone is switched off."
"Barry's phone is charging at the apartment," Frost managed to grit out, one hand pressed over the drenched bandage on her shoulder. "He is probably not far, since he didn't think to take his phone with him when he left."
She prayed so hard that Barry was simply out doing his groceries or anything similarly harmless.
There was no note, so the idea of the doctor being kidnapped by this new ice villain was still on the table, but the whole team was determined to be positive and assume that nothing bad had happened to the man. Since the villain hasn't been gloating over holding Barry captive yet, perhaps the doctor had really gone out early in the morning for his groceries and was not stuck somewhere as a hostage.
Cold rolled his eyes behind his goggles. "The doc has horrible habit of waking up too fucking early on Sunday's morning," he complained, though there was a hint of distress and worry in his voice.
Frost huffed a restrained laugh, wincing at the large bleeding wound on her shoulder.
One could never guess how annoyed she was at being impaled by an element similar to her own power.
She casted a disdained look towards the remaining of the sharp ice that Len had broken while treating her. They didn't dare to pull the ice completely out, fearing that it would cause Frost to lose more blood than necessary. She growled as their latest menace giggled, completely annoyed at being bested by her own element.
There were three people who used ice right here, two of them were on the heroic side and they couldn't take down this solo masked ice witch.
"Come out, sweeties~"
She squeezed her eyes shut, hating the fact that this new villain somehow had the same voice as Iris, the very thing that caused her hesitation that ended with her current injury. The familiar voice had caused Cisco and Lisa to hesitate when they faced this villain last night, giving the woman an opening to attack and injure them, hence leaving her and Cold as the only non-injured members of the team to answer to CCPD's call of distress when this woman attacked again.
It was Sunday's afternoon, for fuck's sake. Didn't these villains have any concept of holiday or weekends?
"Frosty, my old friend~!" the metahuman cooed in the sickeningly familiar voice, causing Frost to wince at the close distance of that cruel sweet voice. "Won't you come out and face me properly?"
There was no mistake of it; the witch was right behind their current hiding spot.
Frost choked a hitched breath when the villain landed from a graceful back-flip right in front of her. Wavy ebony curls bounced to the movements as the woman crouched over her, one hand traced over the edge of her full-face mask.
"Perhaps you don't recognize me?" the sweet cruel voice cooed, sounding almost sulky and offended.
Frost restrained from squeezing her eyes shut again, not wanting to associate Iris with this monster.
"It's hard to recognize you with that full-faced mask, witch," she sneered instead, hearing the familiar sound of Len's gun powering up beside her.
"It's Killer Frost, hunny," the ice witch sighed, sounding both tauntingly sulky and exasperated, yet the dangerous dribble of malice was still present in her words. "Honestly, Cisco better not give me any of his geeky nicknames…"
Frost's brows twitched.
There. That familiar remarks again.
Who is this woman—, Caitlin's tirade halted when the villain revealed her face—the white carved mask shattered with a harmless flick of her wrist.
Frost felt like her heart just stopped.
No. No no no no no no no, Caitlin chanted deep within their shared subconscious, and Frost didn't have the heart to blame her counterpart at all.
She would've done the same if only her body would ever be functional again.
"Iris?"
Len's horrified croak sounded so detached, like the man himself couldn't believe his own words.
Iris—no, this was not their Iris, because it was impossible for her best friend to coldly murder five innocent souls in just in one night and continued to injure so many others the very next afternoon, no no no no no no no no, this is not Iris—flashed them a playful grin, running one ice cold hand over Frost's cheek in an almost loving gesture.
The predatory malice in those brown eyes countered the loving gesture though; making Frost felt the horrified chills that racked through her whole body.
They vaguely heard Joe screaming for his supposedly dead daughter from the police barricade.
Then, everything went white when Iris sent a powerful ice blast that send both Frost and Len flying across the street. Frost spat the blood out of her mouth, growling in distaste at the metallic taste as she casted a quick glance in Cold's direction—relief washed over her when she saw that the older man was already standing. She turned around, trying her best to ignore the delirious chant of Caitlin's denial deep within her subconscious, and frowned in shock upon seeing that their opponent was seething at them, freezing ice plastered her whole body to the wall, leaving only her head free.
Frost glanced at Cold.
"I have quick trigger finger," the older man drawled with a teasing smirk, a bit out of breath but the relief was evident in his voice.
Iris sneered at them.
"Cisco," Frost sighed to the comms, staggering to stand herself. "We would appreciate the power dampening collar now."
Though, before Cisco could reply, Frost felt a light teasing kiss on her cheek, her hair blown at the gust of wind while lightnings flickered in the air as the comms disappear from her ear.
"Nah, Cisco. We don't need that."
The speedster crushed the comms in his palm once he announced that.
"Oh, fucking hell," Len swore, powering up his gun and aimed it at the blurred silhouette of the speedster. "I had enough of you speedsters."
"Awh, Cold, my darling," the speedster cooed. "You broke my heart."
Len sneered. "I'll break more than your heart, speedy."
"Ooh, kinky."
"Oh, for fuck's sake, Savitar," Iris growled, her face twisted to the familiar infamous Iris West's displeased scowl. "Stop flirting with the enemy and get me out of this ice, will you?"
The villain's voice and tone were so similar to Iris' that it made Frost shrunk back while Caitlin's delirious chant grew more erratic.
No no no no no no no no no no….Iris no.
Cait, shut the fuck up.
Iris, why? Why? How? How? Why is she attacking us? Why does she threaten to hurt Barry? Iris Iris Iris Iris…
There was a probability that this woman was one of Iris' doppelganger, but Frost decided it was too risky to console and argue with her shocked other half while they were in the midst of a battle. So, she reluctantly tune Caitlin's voice out so that she could focus on the battle.
However, it wasn't much of a battle.
There was another gust of breeze and Frost felt another light teasing kiss on her cheek before she was thrown towards Cold, causing the older man to drop his gun in the attempt to brace her fall. They were barely able to stand properly when the ice shattered, and 'Iris' was broken free from her encasing. The villain gave them a sultry smirk and a wink.
"Tell my dear boyfriend that I'll come for him, okay?"
Frost felt the blood drained from her face when Iris slung her arms around the speedster's neck as the villain climbed up into the speedster's arms in a bridal carry. Her voice was mockingly taunting when she added;
"Or perhaps I can come for him now..."
And they disappeared from the scene in a trail of lightning.
Frost has that split second to digest the information before she realised the implications of Iris' words. She wasted no time in tugging Len close and straight up yelled to his comms for Cisco to vibe them both to the apartment. It was five minutes of panic, worrying over Barry's safety as Cisco arrived at Central Square, and vibed them to the apartment—the door barely survived when Frost kicked it open.
"Whoa!"
Barry stood awkwardly in front of them, one hand still holding the pan filled with stir-fried meat while the other was loosely holding onto the chopsticks—it was evident that he was in the middle of cooking when he rushed to the door to address the commotion they had caused when they barged into the apartment.
Frost visibly deflated in relief while Len collapsed against the doorframe, heavy relieved breath escaped the former thief. Cisco, on the other hand, has found comfort on the floor; his shoulders sagged in relief.
"Um, what happened?"
Cisco laughed, planting his good hand over Barry's shoulder. "Glad to see you, buddy."
Barry's frown was understandably confused as he shifted his gaze to both Len and Frost, silently demanding for an explanation.
Frost cracked a hesitant smile.
What would she tell him anyway? She couldn't go straight up telling him that his dead girlfriend was back with ice power and now was out hunting for him. Or the probability of inter-universe conflict with Iris' evil doppelganger as their latest villain. No, Barry would probably not take the news well. They needed to carefully breach the subject with tact and at a better time when he was not confused and probably panicked after seeing all of them crashing into his house like this. Len seemed to be on the same line of thoughts as her, as the older man casually squeezed Cisco's shoulder, giving a slight shake of his head before forcing his lips to a playful smirk.
"We can talk about that later, doc," he drawled, wincing at the sharp stinging pain of his side. "As for now, we need your expertise."
Barry's gaze finally landed on their injuries—the bleeding wound on Len's side, to the blood-drenched makeshift bandage on Frost own shoulder and then to the amateur cast on Cisco's arm—and then he was gone. They watched in silent as he ran across the apartment—putting away the half-cooked stir-fry, switching off the stove, before dashing into the bedroom, only to return with a bunch of towels.
He handed the towel to Len.
"Press that on your wound," he ordered, his tone slipping into the no-nonsense tone of a doctor.
"It's just a scratch," Len grumbled, but obliged anyway when Barry glared at him. "You ought to look at Frost first."
"She is not the one bleeding all over my floor, Lenny," Barry growled, firmer now before he shifted his attention to Cisco. "Cisco, can you vibe us to the medbay?"
"Sure can, doc," Cisco pouted, seemingly happy to not be at the centre of Barry's attention as the doctor fussed on both Len and Frost.
Frost, on the other hand, was simply relieved that they have an excuse to delay the breaking news to Barry.
Really, how could she explain this whole chaos to him?
A/N: I can't believe I forgot to upload this. I was pretty sure I have uploaded this on new year and wallah, what do you think, it isn't uploaded. Urgh.
Arguably, this chapter is difficult for me to write, since I have deleted a 3000 words of scene from this one. Just before any of you ask, the 'Iris' in the last scene is Killer Frost in disguise and her whole purpose there was to ignite fear and confusion in Team Frost, while simultaneously putting Barry into brighter and more trustworthy light to the team (they made him a victim now, so why would anyone bother suspecting him to be the mastermind who orchestrated the whole thing?). I put in a little bit of Killer Frost's history in there, and trust me I have the temptation to write a one-shot of Killer Frost and her Detective Allen (just because the idea is so cute), so tell me if you want the one-shot. We had a glimpse of how Barry lured his victims, and his latest victim too!
Random question, is the rest of the world so cold in January? I returned home for semester break and the weather is so freezing cold I just want to wrap my body in the warmest clothes and hibernate. Literally. I did nothing but hibernate this week. Sorry if the future update is slower. I keep falling asleep for three quarter of the day because it is so freaking cold. I may return to review and edit the grammar for this chapter once the weather is warmer.
Read and comment, everyone~! Your thoughts keep me warm in this ice cold weather
